


When in Visions of the Fade

by swooningtrash (littleoracle)



Series: Blades & Lyrium [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: A little fluffy, Character Study, Desire Demons (Dragon Age), Despair Demons (Dragon Age), Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Fenris Needs a Hug, Fenris makes some friends, Fenris wanders Ferelden, In the Fade, Isabela is only in it for a little bit, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Lothering, M/M, Mabari, Ostagar, a little angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-14 09:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5738554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleoracle/pseuds/swooningtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke went to join the Inquisition. Now he's lost forever in the Fade. Or is he?</p><p>With Fenris's lyrium guiding his dreams to the deepest, darkest corners of the Fade, there is hope he'll find Hawke. But will he be able to bring that which he holds most dear back home?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oh, come to me in dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Life got weird and hard and writing this saved my ass. 
> 
> You should know I've not played Inquisition yet, though I know about the horrible choice, obviously. I had no time to research anything in depth and probably made loads of canon mistakes. I had a final outline, but I wrote this by the seat of my pants. I had no beta. Tags changed over time.
> 
> Reasons you might actually want to read this: I wrote it regardless of how many people give kudos because FEELS. There is a happy ending. It's not epic length or anything. Chapter titles are all from lines of poetry. It was HARD finding lines that work perfectly. :) And, it's COMPLETE. 
> 
> And yes, I love comments. They're the only pay a fanfic author will get. It blows my mind that people think authors don't want comments, even if it's just "I liked this". 
> 
> Don't be shy. Say hello!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Stanzas" by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley  
> http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/180604

Fenris has been blind drunk so long he doesn’t know what day it is. He doesn’t remember why he’s in this state nor where he is nor how he got here.

What he does know is that someone took his wine and when he stood to challenge the thief, he fell down and a deep, black, dreamless sleep took over.

He also knows that he is waking up and he is significantly more sober. The pounding in his head has made that fact perfectly clear.

Someone hands him a glass of water as he sits up and his bleary eyes focus on the dark, strong, finely-fingered hand that holds it.

“Isabela.”

His voice is little more than a croak. Most likely he had yelled until it broke. It was something he was known to do when he was completely wasted. Usually carrying on extensively about the injustices of the Tevinter Imperium. It was not, he would have to admit, his best quality.

The room lurches, the beams creak, and he’s only sure it’s not his hangover when he sees Isabela put her hand out to steady herself.

“Where are we?"

She’s frowning at him. It takes a lot to make the pirate queen scowl. And Isabela is usually too busy flirting with him to be upset.

“On my ship, about a league out of Kirkwall."

He nods, instantly regretting the motion. He puts a hand to his head, closing his eyes.

“Why, may I ask?"

She sighs at him, sitting down on a chair next to the cramped ship bunk. There’s a dim lantern hanging from a hook and it glints off the gold around Isabela’s neck.

“Because, dear thing, Aveline and I agreed it was time for you to dry out."

Fenris is trying to wrap his head around the logic of it, his mind still too clouded to think clearly. “So you took me out to sea?"

She nods. “It’s a pain in the ass, a real sacrifice, I tell you, but there’s no alcohol on board."

He hands her the cup and she refills it from a pitcher at her feet. Her voice is strained when she speaks.

“It’s just for a few days. Wanted to make sure you hadn’t poisoned yourself before we set sail for wherever you want to go. Unless you’d rather stay in Kirkwall. I’m sure Aveline wouldn’t mind the help. You could resettle here again. I’m in port often enough, and Merrill is still around. And Carver… "

Carver… she meant Carver Hawke. Hawke. Garrett. Maker, it all came flooding back and his chest constricted.

Varric’s first letter. Fighting with Hawke not to go without him, but relenting in the end because… red lyrium. The idea scared him enough to aquiesce. There were promises made they both knew Hawke might not be able to keep. All those months with no word and then… Varric’s second letter.

Hawke. Trapped in the Fade. Gone.

And not even a body to burn.

His reaction caught him off guard, but Isabela was ready. She handed him a chamber pot just as his stomach muscles clenched. There wasn’t much in there. When had he last eaten?

He wanted to cry, to scream out his loss, but he felt too raw. He was physically sick, unable to reconcile the thought of Hawke being gone.

He wanted to run. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to… It didn’t matter what he wanted. Right now his stomach was in charge and he heaved into the chamber pot again, Isabela scrunching up her nose.

But when he stopped, she took the pot from him, gave him a cool cloth for his face, and another cup of water.

“When you’re ready, there’s bread and some apples in the galley. I know you like them."

She squeezed his arm as she stood back up.

“Get some rest."

Fenris nodded and lay down, but his stomach continued to churn and soon he found himself unsteadily climbing the ladder up to the top deck.

The sea air helped. Whatever day it was, the sun had set. He could just make out the dull glow of Kirkwall on the horizon.

Kirkwall.

It had been a few years since he’d been back. He had come at Aveline’s request. Plenty of Tevinter slavers to kill while he waited for Hawke to be done with his work for the Inquisition.

Now it was the place where he not only found Hawke, but lost him as well.

Stomach roiling again, Fenris took a deep breath, letting the sea air fill his lungs with its particular, bracing scent. The bile retreated from his throat a little.

There were choices to be made. Stay here? Go back to the home he and Hawke shared in Antiva? They had only been there a month, it wasn’t really home. Hawke was the only home that he knew.

And now…

Perhaps he should he strike out for someplace new?

Did it even matter?

The one thing he did know. Despite his declarations that he could not bear the thought of living without him, Hawke had made him promise that if it all went bad, Fenris would keep going. Hawke would not have him drinking himself to death or taking on suicide missions. It wasn’t Hawke’s way and over the years Fenris found it was no longer his way either.

Thinking was making his head hurt and, with his stomach settled, he felt he might sleep, just a little. If he was very lucky, he would not dream.

He remembered now, his markings, connecting to the Fade… his dreams had always been more vivid than others because of them.

And now he was afraid a demon would try to prey upon his grief, to get a foothold to this world, to him, through the lyrium.

Still, his body and his mind wanted rest.

Isabela, who he knew had been watching to ensure he didn’t throw himself overboard, gave him a gentle wink as he went back below decks.

His bunk was comfortable enough and before long he was able to let the gentle rocking of the boat lull him to sleep.

Just at that point between wakefulness and sleep, as reality began to slip away, he felt the lyrium in his skin connect to the Fade. It was almost enough to wake him again.

But has he drifted, he heard a voice, the tone was warm, heated, almost a gasp, and one he had only heard issue from a certain pair of lips when Fenris himself was doing something particularly pleasant in bed.

_“Oh, Fenris."_


	2. I had a dream, which was not all a dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Darkness" by George Gordon Byron  
> https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/darkness

There was no taste in Fenris's mouth. The perpetual tang that sat upon his tongue, slightly salty, a little sweet, a tinge of bitter, was conspicuously absent.   
  
He was dreaming, then.  
  
He was in the Fade.  
  
Since Varric's letter, he had not allowed himself to dream, avoiding that fate by drinking until he passed out in a drunken stupor. Knowing that at any turn he might come across Hawke's body in the Fade and then have no way to bring it back with him… the thought had been too much to bear.  
  
He felt fortunate he had slept so little in the time the news took to make its way to him from Skyhold. Already in the habit of pushing himself to exhaustion, he rested even less while hunting slavers along the Wounded Coast.  
  
His current surroundings were ephemeral, shifting, but they clarified as he began walking. If he was to visit this dream realm, there was little use in standing around waiting for a demon to come upon him.  
  
He had learned from talking with Hawke, and even a bit from Anders and Merrill, that his connection to the Fade was similar to a mage’s, and yet not as strong, just as he also had more control and power here than the non-mages in their circle of friends. It meant that demons and spirits found him particularly interesting. He never found the Fade restful.  
  
As he walked, Fenris found himself in a Fade version of Kirkwall, approaching The Hanged Man. Something about the way the light fell between the buildings felt disturbingly familiar and he braced himself as he opened the door and entered the dark building.  
  
Eyes adjusting to the dim lighting within, Fenris found the inn empty but for another elf, a woman, seated, with red hair and eyes that echoed those he saw in every mirror.  
  
“You would be more convincing, Demon, if you took the form of one who was not dead.”  
  
The demon who wore the form of his sister smiled at him. “But they are all dead, Leto. All who you knew.” She grinned widely, gesturing toward herself. “Many by your hand."  
  
There was something about the way the demon’s power flowed over him. He knew this particular corrupted spirit. It had latched onto him years before, on Seheron, after the Fog Warriors had all fallen to his blade.  
  
He shook his head. “There are many who still live. I still have friends. Or have you lost track over the years?"  
  
Fenris folded his arms across his chest, doing his best to fake a determined grin.  
  
“Well, you _have_ managed to evade me for some time,” the Demon admitted and she looked displeased for a brief moment before the dark smile returned to her lips. “But he who once brought you joy, and protection from me, is now beyond your reach.”  
  
Fenris frowned, glancing to the side for an escape route. He knew what might be coming and his last tangle with the creature almost cost him his soul. He put on a brave face as best he could, hoping his bravado would work on his own mind, boosting his courage, if nothing else.  
  
“I know you for what you are, Despair. You shall not claim me today."  
  
Despair laughed, it was a greasy sound that pulled on Fenris’s mind. As it cackled, the face it wore, Varania’s face, cracked at the edges, split along the mouth and the whole facade of the elven woman dropped like a cloak around the Demon’s feet.  
  
It floated there, a foot off the ground, wrapped in billowing, grey garb. Rodent teeth in a too large mouth continued to issue forth a bitter laugh.  
  
Ice issued from its long fingers, and shrieks that pierced Fenris’s eardrums lanced through his mind. He dropped to his knees, hands over his ears and eyes clenching shut. Visions invaded his mind, memories scrolling past his inner eye in perpetual motion.  
  
He and Hawke, shyly moving bedrolls nearer to each other in the Deep Roads. Hawke helping an injured Fenris limp along the Wounded Coast after a skirmish gone bad. Fenris handing Hawke a treasured bottle of wine. Traveling together, just the two of them, to ports around the Free Marches, and up to Antiva.  
  
But in each memory, Hawke was dead, his flesh decaying, a stench of rot emanating from him whenever he grew close.  
  
Nights alone in bed together turned to horror as a Hawke, with his eyes missing and an ashen pallor upon his desiccated skin, pressed himself against Fenris.  
  
Memory after memory was twisted and corrupted before his eyes.  
  
At last the visions landed upon a certain night in Kirkwall, when Hadriana lay dead in a slavers den and Fenris’s apology for harsh words turned sour in his own mouth.  
  
The memory was strong in Fenris’s mind, but not as strong as Hawke’s mouth against his own. Pushing, parting his lips with a rotted tongue. And then what came after, a first night together filled with joy, the happiest he could remember, before it was blackened by the return of his memories of… before.  
  
It was one of the darkest moments of Fenris’s life, remembering and then losing it all again. The overwhelming sensations, it was all too much. Just as this, here, losing Hawke, was too much as well.  
  
But Hawke had been there for him, had stuck by him, even after he fled, had waited for three long years until Fenris came back to him.  
  
No. This memory, as awful as it was, he would not allow it to be tainted. He owned this memory, despair and all.  
  
For it was also his best memory.  
  
Fenris gasped, grabbing onto the strength his own pain and shame brought him, and pulled himself away from Despair.  
  
As if freeing himself from a cocoon, he broke open the ice barrier Despair had been constructing around him.  
  
He ran. Hard and fast. Strong legs pumping hard as his bare feet pounded the ground.  
  
Despair shrieked and followed, but the creature’s focus was shattered and it was having trouble giving chase.  
  
As Fenris ran, Kirkwall dissolved into green fields, well tilled and growing.  
  
“Hawke,” Fenris was crying, tears flowing freely as Despair’s power still clenched around his heart. “Why did you go where I cannot follow?”  
  
A house appeared on top of a knoll. It was stout and sturdy, surrounded by a small grove of trees. A barn sat a small distance behind and the sound of a cow lowing floated on the breeze.  
  
It was exactly the kind of house he and Hawke had talked about getting when the day came that adventuring was too much, even for them.  
  
Fenris ran toward it with all he had. It was a home he didn’t even know he was seeking. His heart leapt to his throat. Hawke would be inside, safe and sound. He knew it like he knew the lines of Hawke’s face. Bursting through the door, he began calling Hawke’s name.  
  
The rooms were empty, not even a bench by the fireplace. He ran out through the back, expecting to see Hawke there with a wagon, announcing they were just moving in, no need to worry.  
  
And then Fenris saw him. It was Hawke, there was no doubt. But he stood there, unseeing, his eyes blinded by a purple mist. The same mist wrapped itself around him, invading his mouth and ears, binding his arms to his sides.  
  
“Garret?” Fenris took a step forward, unable to breathe.  
  
Then _she_ appeared from around the barn and smiled at him.  
  
“And who might you be? Little wolf? Ah, but you have someone else’s mark upon you. I do wish you would be mine. We would have such a lovely time together.”  
  
A Desire demon. Hawke was in her thrall in every sense. It made him shudder to see her run her hands down his armor, in past the sheath of his jerkin and down below his belt.  
  
He heard Hawke groan in a way that should have been embarrassing out in the open, that would have made Fenris grin if he were the one eliciting it, but it only made him ill.  
  
He was about to open his mouth and say something brave and foolhardy before charging the demon when Despair’s shrieks invaded his ears once more. Turning, he could see the Demon gliding through the door of the house, headed toward him.  
  
Facing down two demons and already in a weakened state, Fenris was unprepared for the battle to come. He reached for his sword and found he was weaponless.  
  
There were few options before him and he began to take solace in the fact that he had at least seen Hawke once more before he was defeated as well. As he did so, his markings flashed without his doing.  
  
Someone in the waking world was doing something to his body.  
  
The markings flashed again, more intensely this time, and the Fade began to dissolve. The demons both reached for him, but he managed to move toward the dark oblivion beyond their grasp.  
  
His eyes flew open and sat up, coming awake to the sound of Isabela’s gasp as she jumped back from him.  
  
“You alright?” she asked once she recovered. “You were… I’ve never heard sounds like that from anyone before. It was enough to raise the dead, and trust me, the sea has plenty of dead to offer.”  
  
Breathing hard, but please to find the lyrium taste coating his mouth once more, Fenris nodded.  
  
Light did not filter through the portholes and Isabela had hung a dim lantern from a hook. It was still night.  
  
“I am… awake now.”  
  
The sound of waves slapping against the hull and the creaking of the ship as it rocked was soothing to his nerves.  
  
Isabela arched an eyebrow at him. “Not exactly what I would call reassuring.”  
  
She moved to sit as he swung his legs over the edge of the bunk.  
  
“Don’t bother getting settled.”  
  
Modesty was never a problem around Isabela and he began to pull pants and a lose shirt on over his small clothes. She had given up guessing the color when Hawke had lain claim to them.  
  
“I am going topside. I need some air.”  
  
She nodded and turned toward the back of the ship, stopping to face him again.  
  
“Don’t go doing anything fool…”  
  
Fenris put a hand up to stop her and nodded. “I am simply getting some air. It helps.”  
  
She nodded back, and understanding look on her face. “The sea is good for that.”  
  
He put a foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, but stopped. “Isabela… thank you. You… waking me was the correct thing to do.”  
  
She smiled, a small, sad grin. “Good night, sweet thing.”  
  
“Good night.”  
  
Fenris sat up, waiting for the sun to crest the horizon with his legs dangling between the balusters of the rail. He breathed in the salt air as he thought, rubbing his fingers through a scrap of red silk usually tucked safely in a pouch on his belt.  
  
Hawke was alive.  
   
For now, it was enough.


	3. If you came at night like a broken king, if you came by day not knowing what you came for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Little Gidding" by T.S. Eliot  
> http://www.columbia.edu/itc/history/winter/w3206/edit/tseliotlittlegidding.html

A stiff wind whipped across choppy water as the sun rose over the horizon. Salt spray coated the deck, the slick surface a danger to anyone not paying attention. Well, anyone in boots, that is. Fenris preferred to feel the earth, or wood in this case, under his bare feet and had no trouble keeping his footing on the slippery planking. 

He stood there sifting through memories as he tried to find a way to move his life forward. If he were fortunate, he would find Hawke again. If a miracle were to occur, he would be able to free him. But until either of those things happened, what was he to do? Where was he to go? And how was he to make some semblance of a life for himself on his own?

There was the thinnest shimmer on the horizon where Kirkwall stood. There was a home for him there, if he wished it. His crumbling old mansion still stood, as did the Amell estate. He could lay claim to either. 

Hunting slavers, aiding Aveline in training the city guard, card games with Donnic, it was simple, obvious… and far too familiar. His heart ached at the thought of living there, in those places, without Hawke. 

Fenris had no memory of losing a loved one, if he ever even had a loved one to lose. He knew people who had grieved, but their tears gave him little clue as to what happens afterward. 

He had already cried for Hawke and would probably go on crying for him. But now he had to go on living for him, too. 

What would Hawke have done in his place? 

Fenris had watched him grieve for his mother and felt inadequate as a helpmeet then. Thinking back, there were two things he remembered about Hawke’s grief. 

First, while they were kept private, Hawke did not stoically hold back his tears. They spoke about it briefly and Fenris now understood those moments of vulnerability. They honored the pain and sadness Hawke was feeling.

Hawke felt what he felt and made no apologies for it.

The other thing Fenris remembered was that Hawke remained publicly somber for a respectable amount of time before returning to his charming, witty self. Sooner than anyone expected it, Hawke was dragging them all up and down Sundermount on some wild task or another. Fenris spoke to him of this, too, and Hawke explained that having purpose helped him to heal.

“The world hasn’t stopped moving, Fenris. What shall I do? Sit and rot?” Fenris remembered the warm chuckle that danced from Hawke’s lips. “Life is a waltz and you can’t misstep or everyone will crash into you and you’ll mash your partner’s toes.”

At the time, Fenris noted that the smile on Hawke’s face when he spoke did not reach his eyes. That complexity, Hawke’s ability to carry so many emotions within him at once, was part of what made Fenris fall in love with him.

And so Hawke had kept moving, kept dancing, even in his grief. If only he had managed to out dance that Desire demon. 

“So, sweet thing, any idea where we’re taking you?” 

Isabela interrupted his thoughts as she joined him at the railing where he leaned comfortably. She handed him an apple and bit off a chunk from her own. 

“Denerim.” 

It was a gut reaction, an answer formed without really thinking. And yet he did not regret the choice once he said it. Perhaps that was a good sign. 

“Ferelden? You’re not thinking of going to…” She trailed off. 

Fenris knew Hawke’s loss bothered her more than she would ever admit. The two had been… close, and would have grown closer if Fenris had not come into their lives. To Isabela’s credit, she had harbored no resentment, though she did suggest more than once that the three of them might have some fun together. 

“I am not going to Skyhold, if that’s what you’re asking. There is nothing for me there. I intend to make my way to Lothering.” 

She threw the apple core overboard, watching as a few fish surfaced to nibble at it.

“Hawke’s old stomping grounds then. I like it.”

Fenris nodded. Yes. It truly was a good choice. Plenty of road between here and there. And plenty of chance for some sort of purpose to find him. 

“Hawke always talked about… he had wanted to show it to me someday.” 

His throat felt tight, but no tears surfaced in his eyes. His time in the Fade last night… there was hope, even if it was a small, weak thing. “I dreamt… I had very strange dreams last night.” 

Isabela turned, leaning her back against the rail. “No shit you did. I was the one who had to wake you, remember?” She chuckled darkly. “You dreamt of Hawke, didn’t you? I’d be surprised if you didn’t. Whatever demon dared to wear his face… I’d like to kill it myself.” 

Fenris simply nodded. He knew it was possible that he had not actually seen Hawke, that the Desire demon and Despair were working together to get at a piece of him or they may be just playing with him for their own amusement. 

But something had happened. 

The end of the dream was all a little vague now, but there was something about Hawke, the Hawke trapped in the Fade, that made him absolutely positive it was the real one. 

Isabela nudged her shoulder against his. “There’s not many slavers to hunt down there. What ever will you do with yourself?" 

He shrugged. “It matters little. I need a destination and this is the one before me.” He sighed. “There are sure to be bandits. I sincerely doubt my blade will have a chance to rust." 

Isabela stood up, hands on her hips as the crew turned to hear their captain’s orders. 

“Alright then, boys! We sail for Denerim and if you get us there quickly, there will be some time at The Pearl for us all." 

The crew hurrahed her and set about pulling up the anchor and setting sail. 

Fenris shook his head. “Nothing like a visit to the local brothel to tempt them." 

Shrugging, Isabela winked at him. “Sweet thing, who said it was just a temptation for the men?" 

He grinned at that, stepping out of the way as a burly man hauled a line of rope past them.  

“It’s good to see you smile, Fenris. You know I love to watch you brood, but I’ve gotten rather used to seeing those lovely teeth of yours, too.” 

Isabela had known the elf for over ten years and he had surprised her many times with his wit and his courage and his fierce loyalty to Hawke and their little band of misfits. Yet she was sure that she would never be as surprised as she was just now, when Fenris stood next to her, wrapping an arm over her shoulder and allowing her to put her own arm around his waist.  

She would also deny that it made her miss Hawke even more fiercely and don’t you dare even think of accusing her of wiping a few tears away. It was just a bit of splintered rope caught on the stiff breeze that got caught in her eye.


	4. He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Essay on Man, Epistle II" by Alexander Pope  
> https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/essay-man-epistle-ii

Denerim was cleaner than Kirkwall could ever imagine itself to be in it’s wildest dreams. Still, it was Fereldan’s capital city, large enough for plenty of trouble for someone who wished to find it. When the Siren’s Call pulled into port, more than a few souls who disembarked strode off seeking a very particular kind of trouble.

Fenris would not be joining them. 

There was a sliver of hope in his heart, more than enough to make him cautious in port town large enough to house a significant criminal element. After all, there was little point in coming this far only to be killed before he had a chance to find Hawke. If it even was his Hawke he had seen in the Fade that night. 

The crew wished him well as they left, many slapping him on the back in thanks for his help along the journey. They were good men, though Fenris expected no less from their captain. 

The three day journey from Kirkwall had been peaceful. They were blessed with clear skies and a stiff breeze and the boat rocked gently at night, lulling Fenris into a peaceful, deep, dreamless sleep. He chalked it up to the drinking and carousing he had committed against himself combined with the clarity of the sea air and the hard work alongside the crew. But with no visits to the Fade, he came ashore with no more knowledge of how to find Hawke nor free him. If it really was Hawke after all.

The travel had him time to think more thoroughly about his destination. Denerim had been an instinct, a gut decision, but it was only meant to be a first stop. After sifting through his memories of Hawke’s stories of his youth, he now planned on retracing Hawke’s flight from Lothering, taking his love back home, in a way. It meant he would not be staying in the capital for more than the morning.

“So, this is where I leave you, then?” Isabela gave him a sad smile. “I will miss watching you haul lines. You know how much I admire a finely sculpted back, Fenris, and yours knows few equals.”

He laughed and saw her shoulders relax slightly at the sound. She worried for him and he was struck by her concern. He supposed it was her own way of mourning Hawke, by taking care of him.

“Here, I have something else besides my inappropriate flirting for you, too.”

She handed him a leather pouch that clinked when it hit his palm. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I didn’t steal it.” Her tone was teasing. “You had some of that on you when Aveline and I found you. Considering the shape you were in, you were lucky you still had it. Must have been your reputation.”

He weighed the pouch in his hand. “I don’t recall having this much coin. Hawke had secured our funds elsewhere.”

Isabela nodded and a tight smile passed over her face. She even looked lovely when she was sad. “The rest is… from the Inquisition. A widow’s due. Varric had it sent through Aveline… for when you needed it.”

Fenris sighed. “I do not think I am suited widow’s weeds, but it was… kind of them, I suppose.”

“I think you would look rather good in black.” Isabela chuckled. “Varric had said something in his note about the Inquisitor insisting on you getting this. It… usually only goes to Chantry wedded spouses or something.”

Fenris nodded. An elf and an apostate mage, two men no less. He and Hawke had never even spoken of marriage, there was simply no option for them. They knew they belonged to each other and it was all they had needed. Still, to have acknowledgement from the Inquisition… it was good. 

“Thank you, Isabela. For the journey and… thank you.”

He put a hand out and she scoffed at it, pulling him in for a hug instead. 

“You take care of yourself. Marwood is a good captain. He’ll get you to Gwaren safely.”

Fenris nodded, giving in and squeezing Isabela back before they parted. Her eyes were bright with tears, the smile she put on even brighter to compensate as she turned away. 

He did not mention his dream, did not mention Hawke. She would scoff, tell him to mourn and move on and he could not explain to her why he was so certain there was hope that Hawke would return. Not when he was so unsure himself.

With the few hours available before he was to get back on another ship, Fenris took the time to outfit himself. Gwaren was less likely to have all that he needed, despite being a port town. His hasty departure from Kirkwall meant he had little with him but for his armor, leathers and pack he took with him on hunts. 

There was a stiff chill in the air this far south and it would only get colder as winter settled over Thedas. Fenris visited various shops near the harbor and managed to gather a sturdy cloak, a new woolen shirt and pants to layer over his thin linen clothes, and a pair of boots. The latter took some trial and error before a comfortable pair could be found that did not restrict his movements.

Marwood was indeed a fine seaman and Fenris reached Gwaren a few days later with little fanfare and an offer of a position on the ship if he ever wanted it. Isabela’s crew had taught him well.

The town was decidedly smaller than Denerim, a fully functioning port that had seen better days. It mattered little for he was only staying the night before moving on and Fenris took little note of any of its details other than the availability of a well-lit inn with good food and a comfortable bed.

Another night of deep sleep and another bright morning found Fenris’s heart that much heavier. Doubt continued to creep into his thoughts and he wondered what he was even doing in Ferelden. It was not as if Hawke was wandering about or even physically present. He was trapped. In the Fade. So what was Fenris even doing here? Chasing wild geese? 

Angry, though at what or who he was not sure, grieving for Hawke though he hoped to see him again, and lost with no real direction, Fenris rose and breakfasted and gathered his belongings together. His old leathers were traded for plenty of provisions for the ten day journey to Lothering.

Nothing further held him back. He was alone with no one to report to, and Hawke’s loss blind-sided him once again. Yet something kept him restless, a need to keep moving, though towards what he did not know. 

The Blade of Mercy, Hawke’s gift to him, was strapped to his pack. His dented and worn breastplate hung with a familiar weight on his chest, balancing the new sensation of his thicker woolen clothes. Adjusting his pack’s balance, Fenris took to the road, following the path through the Brecilian Forest toward Lothering.


	5. Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Tears, Idle Tears” by Lord Alfred Tennyson  
> https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/tears-idle-tears

Despite his talk of bandits and telling Isabela that the Blade of Mercy would not have a chance to rust, Fenris encountered no one on the road to Lothering. 

The Brecilian Forest remained eerily quiet as he padded his way along well-worn paths through the dense, moss-covered trees. There were times he thought he might be watched. After five days on the road alone the Dalish would have been a welcome sight, but no one approached. 

While he walked until he was tired, but not overly so, his dreams remained frustratingly vague. He was not sure if he ever touched the Fade and often found himself startling out of a sound sleep with no memory of what he had last seen before waking. He cursed his own lack of training in such matters and made a quiet promise that if he and Hawke were ever reunited he would ask the mage for some practical guidance.

The only thing he was sure of was that he did not see Hawke in his dreams. His heart was as weary as his body and the longer he went without even a glimpse of the man he loved, he let doubt and despair creep further and further into his heart.

He had entered the Southron Hills early on the sixth day, the temperature dropping as the elevation increased so that it remained as cold as dawn all day. There were fewer and fewer trees and Fenris began to rely on boulders and larger shrubbery to act as a windbreak and shelter against the cold when he stopped to rest and eat. He had not realized Ferelden autumns were quite so chilly and was now grateful for his new boots and cloak, which were quickly becoming comfortably worn in.

When he bedded down for the night, it was in the lee of a small cave that was little more than an overhang, but big enough that he could shelter comfortably and build a fire within its walls. 

He managed to fall asleep fairly easily and he was not sure if he was relieved or not when he found himself once more very aware that he was in the Fade. 

Nothing looked familiar in this place. There was no Kirkwall, but he was grateful there was no Tevinter either. He saw no sign of the little house on the hill where Hawke was being held by Desire. 

He could hear voices calling his name, but he did not know from where. They came from all around him and from inside his head at the same time. 

“I see you, Leto. Come to me, child.” 

The voice was familiar, definitely from his past, but it was not Varania. It was older, motherly. Fenris closed his eyes. 

“You are not her, Despair. My waking mind does not even remember her.”

“Hmmm, then how do you know that I am not she?” 

A woman, an elf, stepped out from behind a large stone. She looked a little like his sister, a little like himself, and a little like a memory rooted deep somewhere in his mind.

“You mock me now, Despair.” Fenris reached to his back and was pleased to find the Blade of Mercy at hand this time. 

He drew the blade, igniting the fiery heat that shimmered along its surface, and held it before him.

“Would you cut down your own mother, Leto?”

The voice touched some darkened part of his mind, the part that knew he would never see his mother again and when he awoke he would likely not remember her either. Was this even what she had looked like in life? He could not be sure.

“I can taste your sadness, Leto. You miss Hawke very much, don’t you? I could take you to him if you would simply come to me. I know where Desire holds him. We are friends, of a sort, you know, for Despair and Desire are often companions.”

Fenris’s chest felt tight. This creature, wearing a face he barely remembered, speaking of bargains, reminded him that Hawke is lost somewhere he cannot get to without help. Was this how he was to free him? Fenris fought for hope that there was another way.

“You think on what I told you, Leto. You know I can do it, you know how powerful I am. It would be easy for me to free him. And you are so close to despairing already, it would be a simple thing to take another step. It would only hurt a little bit more, and then your darling mage would be free.”

Fenris was breathing hard, his throat constricted as he held back tears. He was feeling hopeless, lost, alone. It had been a mistake to travel this way, to go so far on his own and now it may be too late to turn back.

Despair nodded. “Yes, that’s it. You just go and think on it. I will be here. I will wait for you, Leto. For as long as it takes.”

Fenris awoke in a cold sweat and, turning onto his side, he wept like a child, though he was not sure why. He could not remember what form Despair had taken, but he wished desperately that he could. He had not felt so awful since that first night with Hawke when he remembered fleeting glimpses of his past. 

Despair had shown him someone he could not remember now and it left him more downtrodden than before.

Once he had calmed a little, Fenris had no desire to sleep any longer. He built up the fire and made a hearty breakfast for himself, taking the extra effort to make an herbal brew that calmed his stomach. By the time he was finished and had cleaned up, the sky was turning from black to purple and there was enough light to make out the path beneath his feet. 

Sunlight broke over the horizon as he crested a hill. It was a beautiful, crisp cold dawn, one Hawke would have woken him to see. The man didn’t need much sleep, seeming to cram even more hours into the day as they got older. It was as if Hawke knew his time was running out and he wanted to fit as much life as possible into his allotted time. 

It was mid-morning when Fenris walked through a tight canyon, barren of life. Darkspawn had trampled their way through here at some point and the land had not yet recovered. 

As he walked, he came across a low cairn, a single rod of wood sticking from one end. A grave, likely a victim of the last Blight, for it did not look very old. Cairns were rare enough in themselves, whoever had buried the lost soul had not had time to burn the body as they fled before the Darkspawn horde. 

Fenris knelt next to the grave, offering a few words from the Chant of Light. He picked up a rounded stone and he placed it on top. As he did so, the strip of red leather around his wrist glowed, the Amell family crest incised into the leather lighting like a beacon. 

Sitting back on his heels, Fenris brushed his fingers over the red glow. The bracer replaced the strip of silk he had worn when Hawke bound himself to him that first night together. Hawke had crafted the piece himself, working for weeks to enchant the lacings so they would not break or come loose unless Fenris truly wished it and reinforcing the leather so that it would not wear out or lose its crimson tone.

Hawke had also worked into it a particular charm he had learned from his father. There was blood worked into the leather, Hawke’s blood, but he did not use blood magic. The charm he used was old magic, family magic, and it was not just blood. There was sweat from his brow, and tears and piss and cum all mixed into the dye and wax, so that the bracer contained his very essence. 

If anything were to ever happen to Hawke, if he were kidnapped, or worse, Fenris would be able to track him with this bracer. 

Hawke had been here, in this very place. He had bled here or pissed here or… no, not Garrett. Fenris remembered Hawke telling him about his sister’s death. He only told the story once, but Fenris remembered it well. Hawke spoke of Bethany often, but it was always happy stories from their childhood or tales of the powerful magic she was able to wield so naturally or how kind and sweet she had been. 

It was in the days after Leandra was killed, when Hawke was at his lowest and Fenris felt he was of little comfort to the man who’s bed he had fled like a coward. Stumbling in fits and starts, Hawke told the tale, the real tale, of the family’s escape to Kirkwall. 

This was Bethany’s grave. Her Hawke blood was igniting the crest. Fenris was sure of it. 

He was also sure of something else. 

He knew now for certain that it was Hawke, his Garrett and not some imposter, in the Fade that night, with Desire’s hands wrapped around him. 

A memory came back to him, not from his distant past, but one more recent.

Just before Isabela woke him, Hawke had reached out, and for a fleeting moment Fenris managed to reach back. When he did, the bracer lit even more brightly than it did just now. 

As hope flared back to life in Fenris’s heart he wondered if Despair could feel it from where it lurked in the Fade. He hoped it made the demon angry.


	6. But there‘s a something in this breast, to which thy light words bring no rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from “The Buried Life” by Matthew Arnold  
> https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/buried-life

Lothering came into view and Fenris breathed a sigh of relief. He had not been sure what state he would find the town in and was pleased to see that whatever damage had been done during the Blight had been repaired or rebuilt. The scars upon the land remained, for those who knew where to look, but without that knowledge, Lothering appeared to be a cozy, sturdy town preparing for winter.

It did not take long to find an inn, there were only two after all, and Fenris chose the one the furthest from the Chantry. It also happened to be the one that seemed most welcoming to elves, for there were a few of his kind seated in the common room.

After settling his things in his room, Fenris sat down for a meal. The woman who served him took a good look at his markings, but said nothing. Whether she recognized them as lyrium or thought they were vallaslin mattered little. It still marked him as “not a city elf” and one to be watched. 

The meal was hearty and filling and Fenris indulged, ordering an ale that, he had to admit, tasted far better than any swill he had ever drank at the Hanged Man. As he sat and sipped, his back to the wall out of habit, he noted the other denizens of the inn.

A few men who looked like merchants spoke with a dwarf who kept fingering the small pouch on his belt. A young couple chatted amiably over their meal, occasionally stopping to blush at one another. The locals were easy to pick out, a group of older men and an elf, dealing out Wicked Grace at a large round table.

“Where’s Cedric?” he heard one of them ask and the elf shook his head. 

“Can’t come. His wife’s in labor tonight.”

“Ah! Let’s drink to her and the babe, then.” 

One of the older men lifted his mug and they all toasted and blessed the coming baby. Once they were done swigging, the elf looked over at Fenris.

“You there, care to join us for a game?”

Surprised to find himself casually invited into their circle, Fenris shrugged and stood up to cross the room.

“It has been some time since I played, but I do know the rules well.”

A few of the men made room, pulling another chair over for him. Fenris was glad he had left the Blade of Mercy upstairs, but not his money pouch. The former would have likely caused this group to shy away from him rather than inviting him warmly in.

“That’s a good lad. Kira, bring another ale for this one, will ya now?”

The ale flowed and the cards moved fast. So did the betting, though Fenris more than held his own. He found it was much easier to win a hand when there weren’t a couple of rogues cheating at every draw. He was better at cards than he thought.

After winning a fourth hand in a row, Fenris bowed out. 

“I’ll not keep taking advantage of your hospitality, gentleman. In fact, allow me to buy you all a round.”

The eldest of the group, an old farmer named Gregor, grinned at him. “Ah, see, he is a good lad. I knew it just by looking at ‘im.”

As the men drank, they talked comfortably. The elf, Lucian, turned to Fenris.

“You’re not Dalish, you don’t wear their armor. I won’t ask about the markings, but where are you headed my friend? The Inquisition?”

Lucian was unlike any other elf he had met. Born in freedom, raised in Lothering, his family returned once the Darkspawn were defeated. They were known as the most skilled shepherds in the area, raising woolly black sheep that produced fine, warm cloth. 

Fenris trusted him instantly, saw the kindness and close knit community among them all. Yet he did not wish to betray his true purpose so, as with Isabela, he spoke from his gut and let his instincts determine his next step.

“I am making my way to Ostagar. I have friends who fought with King Cailan and I wished to pay my respects.”

At the mention of the ruined city, talk stopped. Heads nodded all around the table. 

“Aye, an honorable destination,” Lucian replied.

“But beware the mabari,” Gregor spoke up. “There’s a feral one been spotted on the old Imperial road.”

“Saw it myself just last week,” another man added. “A wild thing. You know it by its white ears. And it’s still got its whole tail. A right little whip of a thing.”

“I thank you for the warning. I do have a sword and am…” Fenris hesitated, he did not want to speak too boldly here. “I have been trained to use it. I shall be safe, my friends.”

At the mention of friendship, a tipsy hurrah rose up around the table. 

By the end of the evening, Fenris knew them each by name and what they did for work and the number of children they each had. They were a good group and he bid them all farewell as he went up to his bed. 

A little tipsier than he had intended, he tripped and stumbled his way under the covers and knew he would not dream that night, which both made him relieved and sad at the same time.

Frost limned the window pane when Fenris awoke. The thick down of the bedding had kept him warm through the night and he was loathe to lose the heat. A small tinge of a hangover made the prospect even less attractive. 

Still, he felt drawn onward and Ostagar was a three day hike from Lothering. If he left that morning, he would not have to arrive at the ruins in the dark. 

His friends from the previous night bid him farewell as he walked through town, reprovisioned and well fed. Fenris wondered if Lothering had always been like this. If it had, it was no wonder Hawke was the kind of man he was. 

Though maintenance was largely ignored, for Ostagar was no longer a destination for any but a few like himself, the Imperial highway gave Fenris a clear and easy path to follow. It rambled along, as did his thoughts. The visit in Lothering had significantly lightened his spirits and the day went by swiftly, though the temperature continued to drop.

That evening he built his fire a little larger than usual to keep the cold at bay. The heat kept his front warm, and he did not remove his cloak so his back would not freeze. 

He kept the blaze going, giving himself the light he needed to clean his sword. As he carefully sharpened its edge, he paused. Animals were common enough in the area, returning long before the people did, but this did not sound like a deer stepping gingerly through underbrush, nor a rabbit like the one currently cooking for his dinner.

A few more times Fenris returned to his blade, only to pause again when he heard rustling in the leaves nearby. By the time he was finished, his meal was ready. 

As he pulled the potato out of the coals and slide the meat off the clean, heated rock where it sizzled, Fenris looked up and met a pair of glowing eyes on the other side of the fire.

The creature did not move, simply watching him, though Fenris could make out its sides expanding and contracting as it sniffed the air. 

“Ah, so you are the fearsome feral mabari I was warned to watch out for.” Fenris made no fast moves, but he did not freeze either. 

The dog took a step closer and he could see in the light of the fire that it did indeed have white ears and instead of the docked tail he was accustomed to seeing, this dog had a sturdy, whippy tail. 

“Were you born out here, or did you escape your masters?” 

At the word “masters” the animal gave off a short, low growl. 

“Hmm,” Fenris smiled at the dog. “That is me as well.” 

As Fenris dug into his food, the mabari let out a small whine and he could hear it licking its chops. He smiled and watched out of the corner of his eye as it sat fidgeting, moving a step closer every once in a while. 

"Smart enough to know that meat tastes better when cooked by a fire, hmm? So, we are not too feral then.”

The dog finally huffed and lay down on the far side of the fire in frustration. Fenris chuckled at it. When he was done eating, he left the remainder of his rabbit on the cooking stone.

Raking out a few round stones he had placed in the fire earlier, he lifted them with his gauntlets, taking them one by one into the shelter he had constructed nearby. They would not last until morning, but they would at least keep the worst of the chill away for a while. As he settled down to sleep, he could hear the crunching of rabbit bones.

Morning came as cold as Fenris expected it to be, but he found his feet were quiet comfortably warm. There was also something heavy wrapped around them. 

As soon as he shifted, the wild mabari sat up, tongue lolling and what Fenris recognized as a smile on its face. Fenris gave the dog a lop-sided grin and a pat on the head as he got up.

The cold had stiffened his joints and he moved slowly, but found that with every step he took, there was a mabari ready to steady him.

It was a female, he could see that now in the light, and she was a dark brown all over but for the white tips of her ears and tail. 

“Well, fair maiden, if you choose to travel with me you should know there won’t be much food to spare and we won’t be staying in fancy inns.”

The dog bumped her head against his leg and barked. 

“But you are a smart one, aren’t you? Alright, you may come along.”

She did a little circle around him, a dog dance that Fenris had seen others of her kind do before.

“If you are to be my companion, than you need a name. I cannot simply call you ‘mabari’ now can I?”

The mabari sat down and stared up at him, waiting.

“You did keep my toes rather warm last night. Shall I call you Frostbite, then? Perhaps Frost, for short, that accounts for your markings as well. How does that sound?”

Another circle dance and Frost had approved her name. 

For the next day and night, Frost was ever at Fenris’s side. She watched with rapt attention as he cobbled together breakfast for them both, acted as a steadying hand when he forded a stream, and slept as a companionably warm weight beside him on another cold Ferelden night. 

She wasn’t Hawke, but Fenris was no longer alone on the road and the thought gave him comfort and strength for whatever the journey had in store for him next.


	7. Would that I might dream of you and not wake but slumber on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Monna Innominata" by Christina Rossetti  
> https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/monna-innominata-i-dream-you-wake

There was someone’s hot breath in Fenris’s face. It didn’t smell very pleasant either. With a groan, he put his hand up, fingers connecting with a soft furry head. 

“Frost. Your breath. Maker.”

Frost sat back from him, panting. Fenris opened one of his eyes and squinted. The sun was just peeking over the horizon. Frost whined at him.

“Yes, yes. I am up. You are… you are worse than Hawke.”

A pang in his chest woke him more fully. If he was ever able to free Hawke, he swore he would get up every morning after without complaint to watch the sun rise with him. The thought should have been a balm, the vision of Hawke in the wee hours waking him to see a glorious sunrise should have buoyed his heart, but instead he felt more hopeless than he had in days. 

He and Frost made good time as they walked, arriving at Ostagar when the day was only half over. The ruins were quiet and were much brighter than Fenris had expected. There was a gentle quality to the white stones and much of the ruin, while crumbling, still held the ghost of the city’s former glory. Rather than feeling as if he were trespassing on some sacred grounds, he felt peaceful and welcomed.

As he crossed an open field between two of the smaller crumbling arches, the leather bracer around Fenris’s wrist lit up again. He sucked in a breath at the sight, turning swiftly, seeking a glimpse of that which he held most dear. 

There was no one there. 

Ostagar remained as reticent as a tomb should, revealing nothing. But then, Hawke had never been here, there was no reason for the bracer’s reaction. 

Except that Carver was here. 

It was Carver’s blood the bracer had homed in on. The man who would become a Templar, Hawke’s brother, was little more than a lad when the Blight began, the first battle taking place on these very grounds. 

Hawke had never mentioned that his brother had been injured. It must not have been a bad wound, but it was enough that his blood fell to earth somewhere very nearby. Enough to trigger the enchantment and allow Fenris to track him if need be. 

But it wasn’t Hawke’s blood. It wasn’t a piece of Garrett, a sign he was nearby. It was just old blood, shed in a battle that led the Hawke family on a collision course with destiny. 

Frost’s head was under Fenris’s hand and he realized he was absentmindedly petting her. She was solid and real and was a grounding weight in that moment.

“You are making yourself rather useful, aren’t you?”

She wagged her tail, slapping it against his legs. He chuckled and sidestepped her.

“That tail…” He smiled at her. “You and Hawke would get along famously. You both know how to get my attention in the most ham-fisted way, don’t you?”

She barked at him before dashing off after a rabbit in the underbrush. 

“Oh, Hawke. You would love her,” he whispered. “How do I bring you home, you brave fool?”

Before evening fell, Fenris scouted out a campsite. Surrounded by trees stood the remains of a tent frame. With a little bit of work, it was stabilized and covered in thick pine branches. He lay more branches inside and the whole structure was rather cozy, sturdy enough keep out the brunt of the cold night to come.

“Well,” he told Frost with a nod of his head, “I do not know where we are headed next, but I believe this will do for now.”

Fenris built a fire in a stone-rimmed pit nearby and used its light to patch a tear in his cloak before turning in for the night. 

Something about the place relaxed him and he drifted off into a gentle sleep.

There was a rank darkness pressing on Fenris’s mind when he realized he was once more in the Fade. Drifting and dreaming his way into the Fade gave him no control over where he emerged in this chaotic place, but something had pulled him in here. 

The red bracer around his wrist gave a soft, pulsing glow. 

“Hawke,” Fenris said, brushing fingers over its surface. “Maker, where are you? Where am I?”

The land here appeared barren. Fenris was not sure if that was a product of his own mind or the shape the place came by naturally. Either way, it was oppressive and made his skin crawl. 

He began walking, reaching for the reassuring weight of the Blade of Mercy on his back and securing it firmly. 

As he made his way through the deserted, rocky terrain, a smell came to his nose that was worse than the lair of the high dragon from the Bone Pit. He turned a corner and immediately jumped back.

When nothing followed him, he cautiously creeped back around the edge of a nearby boulder. His shoulders relaxed when he saw that the creature that had startled him was decidedly dead. 

Eight legs, or perhaps sixteen, stuck up in the air. The spider was huge, much larger than any he had ever seen, or fought, for that matter. It wavered as he inspected it, its shape shifting subtly. 

“Hawke.” Fenris shook his head, just the hint of an amused smile on his lips. “Varric mentioned a Nightmare. Oh, Garrett, only you would have to defeat a spider of all things.”

Not an abomination, not a demon of any normal description, not his dead mother nor sister, no. Hawke’s worst nightmare, the thing that he had to stand and face so the Inquisitor and the others could escape, was a Maker-forsaken giant spider.

Fenris barked out a laugh and shook his head. 

The bracer was pulsing more brightly here and Fenris paced around the spider’s body, watching for any change. He froze when the pulse stopped and the Amell crest glowed steadily. 

Kneeling, Fenris could make out a patch of dried blood in the dirt.

“Garrett.”

All amusement at the creature’s existence faded with the understanding that Hawke had bled here, had almost died here. How he had defeated such a massive creature, and all on his own, was a mystery. 

But then, this is the man who defeated an Arishok of the Qunari. Fenris knew better than to doubt him. 

Fenris stood back up and stepped away from the creature’s body. The bracer returned to its regular pulsing, but as he pointed it this way and that, it glowed slightly brighter in one direction than the others. 

With a final glance at Nightmare, he turned from the barren valley and began walking along the only open path available.

The one that, with any luck, would lead him directly to Hawke. 

Fenris had no plan. He had a sword and a way to track Hawke, but few other assets were available to him. 

The only thing he knew was that Hawke was alive. The man had killed the Arishok and slew this Nightmare. If he could just find Hawke, he could seek a way to free him. It would be far from the first time the mage had defied expectations.

The thought both lifted and terrified him, for he did not know the cost Hawke’s freedom would take. Drawing on the inner steel that had helped him free himself from bondage and slay his former master, Fenris took to the road.

He slowly began to admit to himself that rescuing Hawke was a real possibility.


	8. In the nightmare of the dark all the dogs of the Fade bark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from “In Memory of W. B. Yeats” by W. H. Auden  
> https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/memory-w-b-yeats

Fenris was unsure how long he had been walking. He did not feel tired, but he could no longer see Nightmare’s realm in the distance. It could have been years ago that he first saw the giant spider that Hawke slew single-handedly. It also could have been but a moment ago.

He followed a winding path that was currently leading him through a copse of trees. Coming out the other side, Fenris froze. 

The little house, the one meant to be his and Hawke’s, stood just as he remembered it from his last visit. The only difference was that Hawke was not standing in the yard, wrapped in Desire’s purple mist. 

Approaching cautiously, Fenris checked his back for the Blade of Mercy once more and, sure of its easy retrieval, stepped toward the house. 

He paused on the little porch. Someone was singing inside. A man’s voice, that Fenris had only ever heard belt out drunken ballads, was singing softly. 

Fenris crept forward into the cottage and there he found Hawke. The mage was crouched in front of the fireplace, a wooden spoon in his hand. He appeared to be stirring something in the pot hanging over the fireplace, but there were no logs on the fire, no coals heating the room, no food being cooked. Just the empty utensils and Hawke, humming now with a beatific smile on his face.

He looked more peaceful than Fenris had ever seen him. That was the true curse of Desire’s power, the ability to give you your heart’s desire in trade for your very life’s essence. 

Some thought it the best way to go, if one had to succumb to a demon, but Fenris knew better. The beauty in life is the unexpected, winding, and sometimes painful journeys we all undertake. We learn and grow and in the process we find whole new lives that our old selves could never have dreamed in a million years.

Heart’s desires were fleeting, in Fenris’s experience, and once achieved, they faded to grey until a new challenge took its place or peace was made in one’s heart. No, Desire’s curse was one of the worst of them all.

He stood there watching Hawke for another moment. He ached to reach out and grab him, to escape with him, but he knew as soon as he touched him, Desire would appear to destroy them both. Eventually, he crept back out the door. When he emerged, a bright flash of what passed for sunlight here blinded his eyes for a moment and when they cleared, Despair was waiting for him.

Fenris spat on the ground and took a defensive stance, poised on the balls of his feet. Despair looked more displeased at the display of courage.

“You look upon me without fear. That is something that I would like to change. You should be afraid of me, for I know what lurks in Hawke’s heart, the secret desires he has never told you about.”

The demon did not wear a false appearance, it’s tattered robes swirled around it and the whole courtyard felt as if the temperature was dropping by degrees.

“Not even a disguise this time, Despair? Have you nothing left to mock me with than speculations about Hawke?”

The demon laughed. “I have no need of a disguise when that which you most hold dear is but a few steps away, unreachable.”

Fenris drew the Blade of Mercy with a growl.

“And not only that,” Despair continued, “But he dwells in a dream that would break you if you saw it.”

Fenris drives forward, his blade coming down as he propelled himself at Despair. Just before he connected, the demon faded into smoke. He grunted as the sword sunk into the ground and he struggled to pull it back out.

Before the sword could be freed, Despair was on him. Icy fingers sent tendrils of magic to wrap around his head and he screamed as the imagery once more began to flash before his inner eye.

It felt as if he side-stepped into another world, much like the time the Dalish Keeper of Merrill’s clan had guided them all into the Fade. The cottage warped slightly and the grass became greener and more lush. A cow appeared in the barn and Fenris could hear Hawke again, singing as he went about his business inside. 

A moment later, Hawke appeared, his eyes bright, a smile a mile wide on his face. 

“Darling!” he called out. “The stew is ready. Would you come in?”

Fenris was but a ghost in this realm within a realm and powerless to do anything but watch as a brown-haired woman came out of the barn and crossed the yard. She was lovely, with rosey cheeks and a warm smile. 

As she approached the house, Hawke came back out, a toddling babe clinging to his fingers as the child took halting steps. The babe grinned and bounced as the woman approached and Hawke laughed.

“You see your momma coming, little Malcolm? You’re going to get all the ladies one day, but she’s still mine for now, okay.”

The woman laughed as Hawke bent to pick the child up. She took the babe from him and went inside to their meal. Before Hawke turned to follow her, he paused and looked around. The smile on his face was beaming more brightly than Fenris had ever seen. 

A moment later, Fenris shifted back into the Fade, the sound of Despair’s cackling penetrating his mind.

“You see? He is happy there, with his woman and child. There is nothing for you, is there?”

Fenris felt his heart pounding erratically in his chest. It was as if it were broken, fractured and unable to beat with any kind of rhythm. 

Despair was right all along. There was… Hawke was lost to him. This whole journey had been a fool’s errand and a waste and now he knew things that he had no wish to know. For the first time in many years, Fenris wished he could erase a memory from his mind.

Was there any point in going forward? Was there any reason at all to bother with trying to free Hawke? He had all he needed and wanted, after all. A wife, a child, all things Fenris, and their life together, would never be able to provide.

Despair moved in closer, sending a chill down Fenris’s spine as the demon’s shadow fell over him. He knew what came next, he knew there would be an offer. It would tempt him and though he desperately did not want to take it, he knew that he was weak here and now and may give in.

A dog was barking somewhere in the distance. It came closer and Despair took notice of it. The demon sounded angry when it muttered under its breath.

“No. Not that. Not now.” 

White-tipped ears and tail on a dark brown body appeared around the side of the barn, barking like mad until the dog was at Fenris’s side. 

“Frost?” 

He was surprised to see her. Mabari dreamed, this he knew, but he never knew they had the power to find their companions in the Fade.

However she managed it, Frost was once more at his side. Her heavy presence grounded him for a moment and a memory, a Hawke memory, sparked in his mind. 

It was just a year ago. He and Hawke in a quiet clearing. Hawke’s old mabari, Dragon, had passed away. 

The dog was one of the first things Hawke bought when he finished his year of indentured servitude to Athenril. Over the years, Fenris had grown very fond of Dragon as well. The two of them stood watching the mabari’s pyre as it burned.

When Fenris sniffed back a few tears, Hawke reached out and took his hand. As they stood there, Hawke spoke, though he did not turn to face Fenris, keeping his eye on the pyre.

“You know… he was such a good boy.” 

Fenris nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Fenris, I… I hope… I want… someday I’m going to grow old and comfortable just like Dragon.” Hawke turned toward him, taking his other hand as well. “And I want to do that with you by my side, if you’ll have me.”

Fenris could no longer hold back his tears. He nodded and folded himself into Hawke’s chest.

“Yes, Hawke. I would like that very much.”

Hawke kissed the top of his head.

“But Hawke,” he said, “I doubt we’ll ever be as comfortable as Dragon.”

Hawke chuckled. They had often woken to Dragon stealing half the bed and been subject to what Hawke called “revenge farts” when they kicked him out so they could sleep in. Dragon had no boundaries. He had been the epitome of comfortable and a model for all, especially Hawke.

The memory was like a dagger of light, piercing the shroud of Despair’s hold on Fenris’s mind. The love came flooding back in. He and Hawke were meant to grow fat and lazy like old mabari and they were meant to do it together. 

Frost’s weight was still pressing against Fenris’s side as he stood once more, the Blade of Mercy finally free for him to swing. Despair hissed at him and shot a few bolts of ice his direction, but they were badly aimed in the demon’s haste to retreat.

“You will not escape me for long, Little Wolf. I know the key to breaking you.”

The demon’s threats felt less dangerous in the light of Frost’s happy tail slapping against Fenris’s legs. Still, he knew Despair would not go far, and Desire had yet to reappear. It was only a matter of time until she took note of what was happening here and came to reinforce her claim on Hawke.

Fenris still had no plan, but with Despair and Desire sharing territory, he began to see the thread of one. With luck, he might be able to weave something together before it was too late for them all.


	9. Here is the handful of shadow I have brought back to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Mushrooms" by Margaret Atwood  
> http://lisaafrank.blogspot.com/2012/07/mushrooms-by-margaret-atwood.html

Frost was circling Fenris, growling. The mabari could sense demons nearby, though whether it was Despair or Desire mattered little. Fenris only hoped that it was not some third party looking to swoop in and devour them all.

He was still getting his bearings after he and Frost had driven Despair off when a thin thread of purple mist appeared. He pulled back from it as it brushed his face and Frost began to bark in earnest.

“So, Little Wolf, you’ve come to check on my Hawke, have you?”

Desire slinked around the corner of the barn, shimmering as it came toward him. The demon seemed to shift its shape, sliding between male and female and settling somewhere between. 

“Hmmmm, my we are a host of desires, aren’t we? Such interesting fun we could have together. One night I’ll be strong and manly and pin you down, the next I’ll fold into a delicate flower and you can do the pinning. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Frost continued barking and Fenris let out a growl of his own. The demon frowned at them both, crossing its arms over its chest and pouting. There was a sound behind Fenris and he saw Desire look past his shoulder.

“Ah, here comes my Hawke now.”

Fenris held the Blade of Mercy before him, the heat shimmered off it and it was as if it had a mind of its own. The sword felt as if it wanted to dance in his hand and take the Demon’s life.

He did not turn, but heard footsteps behind him so familiar it made him want to weep.

“He is not your Hawke, demon. He is not yours to claim.”

The demon laughed. “But of course he is. If you’d like I can make him dance a jig for you, or perhaps walk the ridge of the roof up there, or maybe you’d prefer he strip naked and run in circles around the barn?”

Fenris scoffed, false bravado one of the few defenses he had left. This demon knew little of the man it had ensnared. 

“He has already done those things and more, without need of a demon making him do them.”

Desire paused at this, grinning. “Truly? Well, then perhaps I am, ahem, barking up the wrong tree? What can I give you, Little Wolf? What will it take for you to be mine?”

Fenris did not reply, but he noticed that Frost had her hackles up. She had turned around and was facing whatever was behind him. She would not have reacted so to Hawke, or at least he hoped she wouldn’t. And if it was not the mage, then Despair was making its return.

Desire smiled at him. “Come, you know I can give you absolutely anything you desire. I could peek into your mind and see for myself, but let’s see if I can guess, hmm?”

The demon circled him, but Fenris did not move. He could feel pleasant threads of purple mist sliding over him, stroking his ears, running down his back.

“Hmmm. Your heart’s desire is to be with Hawke forever, to never be parted from him again. I can arrange that, you know. I already have one of you. Shall we make it a matched set, Little Wolf?”

Fenris was breathing heavily. Weakened from fighting off one demon, he did not know if he had the strength to resist Desire if the creature got nasty.

“Come,” it whispered. “Come to me and I will make sure you never ever lose him again.”

“He knows that there is no hope of that ever happening, Desire. He knows that even with you, it would not be his Hawke and the real thing is still out of reach. That is why he is mine.”

Despair’s greasy voice was behind him. Frost danced in place, eager to attack one of the demons, but waiting for some sign from Fenris. He was grateful she did not bolt from his side. Either of them could take her out easily.

“Come to me, Little Wolf.” Desire continued its pleading, hands reaching for him as it stepped closer.

Despair washed over him as strips of that creature’s robes threaded around him.

“I have the best claim to him. He knows that I have the power to free Hawke. And he already knows Despair. We are old friends, yes.”

As the two bickered back and forth over him, all Fenris could think about was escape and finding some way to free Hawke.

“He may know you, but he has seen enough of what you have to offer, Despair. I can give him endless pleasure.”

The demons were arguing. Over Fenris. As if he was some great prize that they both wanted to catch, to hold for their own. As he was wondering at this, Fenris noticed his markings were subtly pulsing. First as one demon spoke, than the other, the lyrium took note and danced with the rhythm of their words.

It was then that Fenris found the plan he had been seeking. The thought alone made him close his eyes and he almost sobbed. But he could not allow that, not now. He needed to be strong. He knew how to get Hawke out and it would take all he had to do it.

The demons were beginning to get hostile with one another. Threats were starting to flow back and for the between the two. Fenris would have laughed to hear two demons insult each other’s parentage if the situation were not so desperate. 

“Stop!” he called out and everyone froze, all eyes except for Hawke’s on him.

Fenris took a sideways glance at Hawke, saw that he was wandering at the edge of the courtyard, bent over and looking at some strange growth on the ground. Fenris had to swallow hard before he could speak again. 

“I have a proposal for both of you, if you will accept it.”

Fenris was unsure what surprise looked like on Despair’s face, but he guessed that the expression it now held was it. Desire, too, looked almost shocked before a dark smile parted its lips.

“What bargain is that, Little Wolf?” it crooned at him.

“Hawke is a mage. He is bodily in the Fade. I know he is rather special.” 

Frost still growled, but with no battle imminent, she sat back on her haunches. Fenris let out a breath and continued.

“While he may be special, I am unique. There are none other like me. The lyrium in my skin… it is not a thing you will find anywhere else, no matter how hard you look.”

The demons both nodded, listening. He had their attention. Now it was time to strike, though it would not be with the sword he was now holstering.

“Free Hawke and I will go with you, with both of you. Despair once said you were companions of a sort. Let that be so and you will have me.”

Desire squinted at him, thinking. Despair came around to his front, hovering next to its counterpart. It appeared to be considering his offer as well.

“Despair feeds Desire, Desire feeds Despair. Is that what you propose elf?” Despair asked. “You… you have lived this way before, haven’t you… slave?”

The word sent a shiver down Fenris’s spine. Slave. He would be that to these two, yes. His body a possession they would use to their advantage, his lyrium a source of power that never faded, that travelled with them, his mind and heart turned over to empower their every whim. 

Despair and Desire were as opposite sides of a coin, with the passage of time and the fleeting hearts of mortals, one always lead to the other in a cycling dance. 

His past with Danarius had been much the same. It was a slave’s lot, to desire and despair in turns. It was a pain he knew well.

It would be worth it to free Hawke. 

Fenris nodded at them both, shaking as he spoke, but his voice remained clear, authoritative. “That is the arrangement. Yes.”

“You turn yourself over freely, for the life of one little mage?” 

Desire’s tone turned teasing and Despair reached a hand out.

“Your mage shall be freed, Little Wolf. And then we shall all have some fun together.”

Fenris nodded. He did not trust himself to move further, afraid his knees might give out from under him.

Despair stepped close, sniffing him all over as if he were a particularly well done cut of meat.

When Fenris spoke again, his voice was near to breaking. He held on because he had to. This was not done yet.

“How shall Hawke leave the Fade? You know of a path?”

Despair nodded, grinning as it continued to inspect him closely. “An elven door. Nearby. We will take you there.”

Frost pressed herself against his legs and he felt so very close to breaking down, despite her warm presence. His breath was short and shallow, but his eyes were dry. This was his only choice. 

“Then let us go and be done with it. Once Hawke is through the doorway, I will be yours.”


	10. Double yourself and receive me darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from “The Sleepers” by Walt Whitman  
> https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/sleepers

The Eluvian glowed green with Fade energy, it’s portal a shimmering surface, though Fenris could not see what was on the other side. He did not know where Hawke would come out, but there was no real choice in the matter. He hoped it was someplace safe, but then almost any place was safer than this.

He turned to the demons who watched him with raw hunger in their eyes now that they knew their prize was so close. 

“He cannot be allowed to see you. He will know and this will all be for naught.” 

The demons nodded and moved into hiding, slipping behind the barn that began to look less solid with each passing moment. 

It made Fenris sick to execute this horrible plan, to help these corrupted, evil creatures achieve greater power, but he had no other choice. It was well past time for Hawke to go home. Hawke was needed out in the world.

With a signal from Fenris, Desire pulled its mist back from Hawke, releasing him. The mist came out of his ears and eyes. Hawke began to cough as the mist flowed from his mouth and then every other orifice until the man staggered with the loss of its support. 

Fenris was there, ready to catch him as he fell. 

Hawke looked around, squinting as if his eyes were still clouded.

“Fenris? Where…? This is the Fade still.” 

He was mumbling, but began sitting up under his own power. Fenris helped him to his feet as soon as he was ready.

“We must get you out of here, quickly. The demons are gone for now, but they may return.”

With luck, Hawke was still groggy enough not to question Fenris too closely nor note the tone of desperation in his voice. Perhaps he would pass it off as fear and exhaustion from driving the demons back.

It was then that Frost decided she had seen enough of this madness and began inserting herself between them, whining.

“Well, hello there.” Hawke greeted her with enthusiasm and the joy in his voice clenched Fenris’s heart.

Hawke smiled down at her, his whole face brightening at the sight of the mabari, but she ignored him as she continued to press into Fenris, insistent.

“This is Frost,” Fenris closed his eyes and swallowed. Every word he spoke felt like a shard of ice in his gut. “She has watched over me while you’ve been gone.”

The mabari was herding them both toward the Eluvian. When they were standing close to it, Fenris bent down on a knee to meet her face to face. 

“Go, Frost. It’s time for you to wake up.” He ruffled her ears and rubbed his hands down the length of her back, whispering to her. “Hawke will find you. He will need you, then. You must stay by his side, for me.”

She gave him a look that almost broke him then and there, but she stopped whining, licked his face, just once, and stepped to Hawke’s side. 

“Don’t worry, Frost,” Fenris put on his best jovial tone. “He loves dogs, you’ll like him.”

As he stood there watching her, she slowly faded into nothing. She would wake at his side and guard his body until Hawke made his way to Ostagar. He hoped she wouldn’t have to wait too long. 

Fenris turned toward the Eluvian and found Hawke standing there in front of it, relief on his face and wonder in his eyes, though he was still decidedly unsteady on his feet.

“But how did you free me, Fenris?" he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

Fenris laughed. Everything now depended on the the tone of his voice, the lies coating his tongue. “You doubt that I could do it?" 

Hawke smiled, that broad, handsome grin that lit up Fenris’s world like the brightest sunshine. He drank it in like a drowning man who felt the ocean pulling him down with each passing moment.

“Well, no,” Hawke chuckled. “In fact I was pretty sure you could. That’s why I let Desire take me, lesser of all the evils and all that. But how?"

Fenris gave him his best exasperated sigh and part of him was both happy and heartbroken to see Hawke smirk a little at the sound. 

“I am asleep, Hawke. I will tell you the whole tale when I am awake and we are reunited." 

It was not a lie, Fenris told himself. If he were ever to wake… though his body would likely be dead by the time Hawke found him… but if he did, he would definitely tell Hawke the whole sordid story.

The mage nodded and stepped closer, about to embrace him. “Alright. I will come find you when I come out… wherever this thing leads.”

“I am near Lothering." Fenris told him. Another twist of perception, not a lie really and easier to slip over his tongue. Simplicity was his ally in this.

“Lothering? Truly?” Hawke asked, taking another step closer, the smirk turning into a bemused smile. “I can’t wait to hear how you ended up there. Shall we meet at the inn, then?"

Fenris put a hand up, nudging him backward until he stood directly before the Eluvian. “I am near Lothering, Hawke. Now go. We do not want any other demons to come upon us here." 

Hawke grinned broadly now and Fenris felt his heart cracking into a thousand pieces as the man put his hands up in cheerful surrender. “Going. Going. I… thank you for coming after me, Fenris."

It was but a turn and a step and then Hawke would be back in the mortal world. It all came crashing down on Fenris now. In just a moment, he was never going to see Hawke again. If there was anything left to say, now was the time. 

“I… I love you, Garrett.” 

Hawke gave him a funny look, like there were puzzle pieces falling into place in his clouded mind. He paused at the doorway, looking more critically at their surroundings and at Fenris.

The declaration of love was a mistake. Fenris knew it as it left his lips. He had never said it before, had actually told Hawke he would never say it, for it carried too much of something he had trouble articulating. The words always rang false in his head, as if the feelings they shared were too large to be contained in such a small and simple statement. 

But now he had said it in a flash of desperation. In their last moments together, he wanted to be sure that there was no doubt left about how he felt. 

And now Hawke would know there was something vitally wrong here.

Before the mage could gather himself, before he could react or ask questions, Fenris kissed him hard and fast, grabbing his collar to hold him in place. Their lips pressed together in one final collision. Fenris felt everything around them slip away and, just for a moment, there was only he and Hawke, together.

A breath later, Fenris called upon the lyrium markings to give him strength. With one great push, he shoved a shocked Hawke through the Eluvian. In the same motion, he reached back and unsheathed the Blade of Mercy. 

As soon as Hawke was completely through, Fenris smashed the blade against the magical doorway, shattering it utterly. 

They were parted, he and Hawke. Forever this time.

Fenris stood there shaking for what felt like an eternity. The Eluvian ceased glimmering, its glow flickering out like a great fire covered over in ash. 

Sounds behind him told him the demons had come out of their hiding place and his shoulders slumped. He still had not cried, had not broken down. It seemed pointless now, and all that mattered was that Hawke was safe, he was free. Fenris had accomplished his goal. Now all that was left for him was a tormented existence within the Fade.

“The lad is rather skilled isn’t he?” 

A familiar, greasy voice sent a chill down Fenris’s back. His knees gave way and he crashed to the ground, his breath coming in sharp gasps, whispers of “No. No. Not him.” on his lips.

“Hmm, yes. Such a fine little act he put on, didn’t he?” 

The female voice that answered brought back more memories unbidden. Hounded sleep, denied meals, but also a soft body in a warm bed, dancing under his touch.

Footsteps approached and he looked up to find that Despair and Desire had taken on new forms, ones that drew upon their two aspects with equal measure, ones that made bile rise in his throat. 

As a slave, Fenris had despaired of ever gaining his freedom, he despaired at the tasks he had to undertake as both bodyguard and servant. And yet, in the twisted relationship between slave and master, desire was always in the mix. Desire to please, to pleasure, if only for the rewards it brought and the ability to touch that power and have it for his own, even for the briefest of moments. 

And now he was back with the two people who knew how to make him dance that knife edge between them. Despair and Desire, Denarius and Hadriana, they held him in their grasp. 

He was theirs to use as they wished, and they would never let him go again.


	11. This is more like fog and your body is invisible and right across from me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from “Non-lieux" by Erika Meitner  
> https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/non-lieux

It has been days and weeks and years and centuries. It has been no time at all. Time passes, or does it? Is he stuck in a moment, trapped in amber, or is he moving ever forward and time no longer has meaning?

He has been a slave forever. He has been a slave for a day. He is no longer a slave. He does not know what it means to not be a slave. His master is his whole world. 

Fenris’s thoughts are clouded, muddled. Nothing about this place, these people, remain solid for him. They shift and change like mercury, sliding from shape to shape. 

Tevinter. That’s where he is… isn’t he? There stands Danarius, his master. And Hadriana, his master’s apprentice. He is Fenris, their bodyguard. That is… correct. 

Hadriana walks over to him, she pulls him down to her, sticks her tongue down his throat. He feels himself want to resist her, but why would he want that? She is his master’s apprentice. Her attentions are valuable, they show him that he has worth to her.

Her grin twists into a grotesque shape as she pulls away from him. Denarius steps forward, pulls on the collar around his neck.

“You will make yourself useful now, pet. Come with me.”

Danarius leads him to a chair and Fenris wants to run from it. His knees weaken when he sees it, but he knows it will be worse for him if he fights.

Once he is sitting, straps are placed around his wrists and ankles. Fully secured, Danarius stands on his one side, Hadriana on the other, and they place their hands upon his bare chest. He does not remember removing his armor. Perhaps they have done it for him. Perhaps he has never worn armor here in this place.

When their hands press against his flesh, he feels the lyrium in his skin waken and begin to sing. Its song is so beautiful, it is peaceful and calm and soothing and, for just a moment, Fenris feels himself relax into its melody, drifting with the sound.

Then the markings ignite as his masters begin to pull on their power and Fenris’s whole world turns to fire and blood. He does not scream. He learned long ago that making noise displeases his masters. It breaks their concentration, and so he remains still and quiet, though the markings feel as if they burn the flesh from his bones.

While his body burns, he retreats, deep into the recesses of his mind. There he finds the strange visions that feel like memories. A man is there, smiling and handsome and he is talking to Fenris, though he cannot hear what the man says. A city burns, and Fenris fights at the smiling man’s side. They win and then he and the smiling man travel together until a letter arrives and the smiling man stops smiling. 

Hawke. The name comes as a bolt from the blue and leaves Fenris reeling with the knowledge. The smiling man is Hawke, his partner, his lover, his friend. They are parted because of… demons. The Fade. He is in the Fade now, and Hawke is not because Fenris struck a deal. But Hawke is safe. Away from here.

And then his masters pull away from him, both of them grinning luridly, licking their fingers as if finishing a good meal. The last vestiges of their ritual recede and the lyrium’s song fades to a distant humming. 

“How do you feel, Little Wolf?” Hadriana asks him.

He shakes his head to clear it, but is sure to keep it bowed, his eyes averted. “I remembered… I thought I saw… it was strange. I had… visions.”

“They are nothing, Fenris.” Danarius’s voice is cold, commanding. “No one else wants you, no one knows you’re here. You belong to us, now and always.”

Fenris nods, the knowledge seeping into his bones like poison, his marrow rotting with each word from Danarius’s lips. 

“Don’t you love us?” Hadriana’s voice is pouting, teasing, tinged with something insatiable and raw and dark. “If you are very good, I will take you to my bed. I’ll let you lick me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, dog?”

Fenris nods again. He feels sick each time they tap him for the power he possesses in his skin. The visions he had while under the lyrium’s spell fade quickly, but something about them still lingers and it makes him sad, hopeless in a way he cannot put into words.

And yet when Hadriana orders him to pleasure her, he cannot resist. A part of him does not want to resist, for there are none more desirable that he has ever seen. Except… except there is some slip of memory at the edge of his mind, a sense of want and need and desire that has nothing to do with his master’s apprentice. He does not know who would ignite such a feeling in him and the thought plagues his mind.

They are walking, the three of them, along some sunny promenade, though Fenris does not remember leaving the estate. The Minrathous air is hot and sticky and Fenris’s armor clings to him. He longs for a cool drink of water such as the one his masters pass between them, but it is not his place to ask for a boon. Perhaps later, if it pleases them, he will have a sip of cool, clear water from the font in the courtyard at home. Until then, he must make due with the stale water bladder hung from his waist, its contents grown hot in the sun.

There is a commotion up ahead and Fenris moves to guard his masters. It is his duty and his purpose. He pulls his blade, a great gift, though he has no memory of who gave it to him, and takes a fighting stance. As he does so, he notes that the bracer around his wrist has lit up a brilliant crimson, as if it were on fire.

A magister approaches, eyes like amber and a glint in his eye. A Fereldan mabari is at his side, growling and barking. Fenris holds his sword before him, but the magister is fast, the dog even faster. 

She lands on him, handily dodging the sword, and Fenris lands flat on his back, the wind briefly knocked from him. As he struggles to push the dog off, he notes that she does not try to bite him, but instead simply settles her weight upon him so he cannot move. 

The sword is out of reach, useless. Fenris is about to pull upon the lyrium markings and phase through the dog when the strange magister bends down over him.

“I am sorry, love, but I have do to this. Just hang on,” he says before reaching down and taking Fenris’s hand in his own.

Fenris’s markings flare at the mage’s touch. They grow brighter and brighter, but rather than the pain and searing burn that usually accompanies their activation, he feels buoyed. They continue to glow until his whole body is lit up, the light blinding him. 

He closes his eyes, but feels something still building in the lyrium. He does not understand how the mage uses his markings so easily, but the connection is natural, gentle. 

Just when he thinks the lyrium can sing no louder in his mind there is an explosion that knocks the mage free from him.

Fenris opens his eyes, but he cannot see anything. He can, however, hear the muffled sounds of a fight. He does not know where the Blade of Mercy is and does not know when he misplaced it. 

He rubs at his eyes, a sense of urgency pulling on him. He has to protect his masters. His… no, he has no master. Danarius is dead and Hadriana with him. Maker, where is he? If only he could see.

There are more explosions, the sounds of fireballs bursting, and demons screaming as Fenris’s head begins to clear. The demons. Desire and Despair, their hold on him broken as they are distracted by their fierce battle with… Hawke. 

Fenris sits up, finding himself no longer pinned down. His eyes are still clearing from the lyrium explosion. He can hear Frost nearby, barking like mad. Familiar human grunts reach his ears as well as someone casts spells. They are still drawing on his lyrium with each effort, but it does not hurt him when this mage does it.

There is one final crashing explosion, a blast of backwash flowing over the area, its heat near to blistering. A crackling sound follows, along with the smell of burning wood and rotting, roasting meat.

Footsteps approach and Fenris can almost make out the silhouette of a man, staff held casually, calling his name. He tries to answer, but his eyes drift close, the sounds around him muffled as everything grows quiet and starts to fade.


	12. Yet, doubt not, soon the seasons shall restore your friend to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from “Consolation” by Robert Louis Stevenson  
> https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/consolation
> 
> This was originally going to be the last chapter, but it started getting a little long and Fenris and Hawke still have much to say to each other, so there will be one more. I'm also pondering writing a follow up short thing about what happens to Hawke when he comes out the other side of the Eluvian, so let me know if you'd all like to see that. :)

Fenris hears a voice calling to him. 

“Oh Maker. Fenris. Shit." 

The voice comes and goes. It sounds distressed… and familiar. 

“It’s time to come home, wake up."  
   
At times it is very far away, at others closer. It’s starting to sound sadder, more desperate.

"Come back, love. Please.” 

Surrounded by darkness, he is unsure where to go. He lifts his hand and can see it before his face, but looking up, down and around, there is nothing but unshaped Void around him. He knows he must be standing on something, but cannot see what it might be. 

He hears barking coming from somewhere behind him and turns to see Frost making her way towards him. It looks as though she wades through a black mist that tries to wrap itself around her if she slows for but a moment. He begins to move toward her and finds the ephemeral mist wrapping like fingers around his feet and ankles as well. 

They meet and she does not pause to greet him, instead immediately grabbing him, gently wrapping her powerful jaws around his forearm, and pulling him back the way she came. 

Something calls to Fenris from behind him, some thread of power that feels as if it is anchored in his gut. He looks back and sees a single point of light, so beautiful, so pure. He wants to follow that light source, to be bathed in its beauty, but Frost begins to whine as he tries to turn from her. He hesitates a few moments more as the black mist envelopes his lower legs. 

In the end, and with a pang of longing, though he knows not for what, he relents and lets her lead him back in the direction from which she came. They must wade through hip deep mist for a time and it feels as if they are trudging up a steep incline, but eventually the way evens out and their steps are no longer impeded. 

As they walk, Fenris's markings flash in some kind of rhythm. They pulse for a few moments before pausing. A moment or so later, they flash again. It does not hurt him, but he feels a jarring pressure on his chest with each flash of light. 

Fenris comes to, his surroundings taking shape and he can see pine boughs above his head. There is a weight on his legs and someone is pressing on his chest. A moment later the pressing stops and a mouth is pressed to his, a hand around his jaw to hold it open, and air is blown into his mouth, against his breath. Fenris pushes a hand up to stop them and the person pulls back as he starts coughing.   
   
“Maker, I thought… you weren’t breathing, love. I don’t know for how long. You were so cold.” 

“I still am, Hawke.” He was shivering so hard he could barely speak, every muscle in his body working overtime to try and warm him. 

“Nice pants, by the way. And I love the boots. Very sexy.”  

“Hawke.” 

“In fact, you… in this outfit… the whole package. Love it.” 

“Hawke.” 

“I know. I’m rambling. Don’t care.” 

“Hawke, please.” 

Despite the cheekiness of the remarks, Fenris could hear the relief in Hawke’s tone. How long had he been here? How long was he mostly dead? 

“See? There’s that lovely tone. A touch of love, a touch of exasperation. It’s how I know it’s really you and not… not that thing I was living with for however long Desire had her claws in me.” 

Hawke kissed him, a quick press of his lips. It was like fire against Fenris’s mouth. 

“Ah,” Fenris managed to get the words out with difficulty. "So… it wasn't… you were… you desired…” 

Hawke grinned and shook his head. 

“Of course it was you. What other heart’s desire do you think I’ve been harboring all these years?” 

Despair’s vision of Hawke with some woman, a family. It was false. Fenris smiled, teeth chattering together as he did so. 

“Your hair though…” Hawke’s voice softened. A calloused hand touched Fenris's head, running fingers along the close-cropped sides. 

“Cut it off.” He grunted the words out between gasping breaths. He was so damned cold. "Hunting slavers for Aveline. Was more practical.” 

He had last cut it before his final expedition. Shaved the sides of it off, too, though they had grown back in a bit. It was shorter even than when they had first met. 

“I love that, too. Your Fade self had all this long silky stuff. It kind of got in the way. Though it was a bit fun to pull when…” 

“Hawke. I don’t need the details.” 

“Right. Let’s get you warm.”  

“Indeed. And Hawke?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I am… glad you’re not dead." 

“Me, too!" 

Fenris could hear other voices behind Hawke and the smell of a camp fire reached his nose. 

Hawke set about putting warm rocks along side Fenris to warm him. Both their cloaks were wrapped around him and he found that Frost, panting and with a look of joy on her face, was the source of the weight upon his legs. 

Once she realized he was awake, she moved up to lay beside him. Hawke wrapped himself around Fenris’s other side and he lay there, still shivering, between the two. 

Slowly he began to warm, his mind coming better into focus and the reality began to sink in that it was Hawke’s weight warming his left side. He turned his head to find the mage smiling at him. 

“You are alive, Hawke. It’s really you. I have been… dreaming of you for so long." 

Quiet tears streamed down Fenris’s face before he even knew they were there. Hawke’s fingers stroked down his face, warm and comforting. He pulled closer and they were lost in a quiet kiss for some time. 

“It’s really me. And it’s really you. Maker, that was… the world still doesn’t quite feel real." 

Fenris nodded. “How long… how long was I out?" 

“It took me five days travel to get here and the whole time I...” Hawke’s voice was more somber. “I thought you may be trapped there forever or worse, that I wouldn’t find you in time." 

Fenris furrowed his brow. Part of him had known that Hawke would worry, that he would be angry at the his sacrifice, though he stood by his choice. 

“Where?” he asked. 

“I came out in the wilderness west of Redcliffe.” Hawke sighed. “It was damned lucky. I knew the road. Father had taken me a few times when Lothering didn’t have what we needed." 

Hawke’s tone became more scolding then. “You should not have come after me, love. The whole point of you staying away from everything was to protect you. I… I told the Inquisitor you would have killed yourself to save me. I didn’t really want to test that theory, you know." 

Fenris smiled at this. “You would have done the same, Hawke. In fact, you did. Everyone thinks you are dead and all to protect Thedas, and… and me." 

Hawke smirked. “Well… alright, I suppose you’re right. Let’s… let’s not do something like this again, shall we?" 

“A promise we know neither one of us can truly make.” Fenris snuggled in closer to Hawke and Frost grunted, moving closer to fill the gap. 

Hawke simply sighed and held him tighter.  

“So, this young pup. She’s something, Fen. Wherever…" 

“On the road here from Lothering. She’s wild." 

“I noted the tail.” 

Fenris was beginning to feel drowsy. He was not yet completely warm, but comfortable enough to drift. At the realization, he sat up abruptly. 

“Fenris?” Hawke asked, sitting up along with him, Frost quickly joining them in the sitting-up club. 

Fenris shook his head. “Sorry… sorry. It’s just… I am not ready to sleep again so soon… I… I don’t know what I would find there should I dream again.”

Hawke nodded. “I have a potion to help you sleep, if you’d like, but frankly, I think we should probably get on the road.”

At the thought of the journey back to Lothering, Fenris frowned, shaking his head. 

“Hawke, I do not think I am up for traveling that far, not yet anyway.”

“Good thing you made some friends then.” Hawke was grinning. “I can’t believe how much you’ve changed. You made friends. All on your own.”

When Fenris quirked an eyebrow at him, Hawke explained.

“I got to Lothering and started asking around about you. There were a few fellows at the pub on the farther side of town that had seen you. Apparently they played Wicked Grace with you and you won? Anyway, when I hinted that you might be in some trouble, they offered to come along and help out any way they could.”

The voices outside the shelter erupted in a burst of laughter before someone shushed the group.

“You act surprised, Hawke.” Fenris smiled at the sound, resting his head on his knees as Frost moved to sit against his back. “After all, I did manage to befriend you, did I not?” 

At this Hawke laughed loudly.

“As I recall, you had Anzo hire me under false pretenses and then I proceeded to charm you into joining our group.”

Fenris ducked his head. “I… yes, I suppose that is true.”

“In fact, I remember flirting with you in front of that awful old mansion and you giggled.”

Fenris scoffed. “I did not giggle, Hawke.”

“Yes, yes you did, but that’s okay. I was already in love with you anyway. Well… alright, I was in lust with you at least.”

“Hmmm.” Fenris smiled and pulled Hawke down towards him into another gentle kiss.

“What do you say we get on the road, shall we? I want to get you into a real bed for some rest.”

Fenris gave a tired nod and Hawke tucked the cloaks around him once more before ducking out of the shelter.

Fenris sat there, Frost’s warmth against his back, the remainder of the heat from the stones warming his feet. He could hear Hawke taking charge, and the sound of a cart and horse pulling into the camp made him smile again. 

When Hawke came to retrieve him, Fenris brushed him off before he could be lifted.

“I’ll not be carried. I want to walk to the cart, at least. I wish to feel the ground below my feet.”

When the two of them emerged from the shelter, there was a small, but vocal cheer that went up from the little group that had come to his aid. With Hawke’s strong arm around his waist, Fenris hobbled to the cart. 

“Good to see you on your feet, lad.” 

Gregor smiled at him as he clambered into the cart and Fenris could see Lucian holding the reins of the sturdy plow horse that had been borrowed for the journey.

“It is good to be seen, serah.”

“Ah, don’t listen to Gregor. He’s just glad you’re alright so he can try and win his gold back from you while you heal up,” Lucian jested.

With smiles on their faces, the little group of rescuers and the rescued made their way along the Imperial Road, back toward Lothering.

Fenris was jiggled and jarred along the bumpy road, but there wasn’t much option and he was grateful in a way, for it kept him awake. He was not ready to dream again, not yet.

Hawke rode with him for part of the time, walking along side the cart when he felt the need to stretch his legs, but always within eyesight. 

Something in Fenris’s chest loosened at the sight of him, walking with Frost at his side if she was not with him in the cart. 

It would be another day or so until they pulled into Lothering, but it did not matter. 

Hawke was home.


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a short little epilogue, but it turned out to be one of the longest chapters of the whole story. Oh well. And on top of that, Hawke surprised me with a seed for another story along the way. Oh, Hawke. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. Thank you for your kind comments, they truly made a difference on some tough days.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!

Fenris woke and felt groggy. The sleeping drafts he had been taking left him muddled when he woke, but it was better than risking going back to the Fade unwittingly, at least for the time being. He would allow dreams to return to him in time, but for now he preferred to shift firmly between total rest and waking reality.  
  
There was a weight on his leg, another across his chest, and a hot breath blew against his face. He put a hand up to push it away, expecting to feel Frost’s fur. Instead he got a handful of beard.  
  
He smiled sleepily and instead of pushing the face away, he moved closer and kissed it.  
  
Hawke mumbled in his sleep, unconsciously pulling Fenris into him and Fenris turned in his arms, moving in closer and wrapping his free leg over Hawke’s.  
  
Fenris had spent the last two days in bed, but the previous evening had finally felt the strength to get up and have his dinner in the inn’s common room. His appearance had been greeted with a small cheer from the locals, making him smile.  
  
As he came more fully awake, he heard Frost stirring on the floor next to him. She was ever ready at his side, helping him to move about as he regained his strength. While he had no permanent injuries, many days of exposure to the elements had worn on him and he did not bounce back as quickly as he might have liked.   
  
He smiled when she put her paws up on to the bed, whining to get his attention.  
  
“Hmmm. Soon Frost soon,” he told her and she dropped down, walking over to the door and sitting in front of it.  
  
Fenris began to nudge Hawke, gently but insistently, until the mage groaned at him.  
  
“Hrrrn. Just a bit longer Fen. I’m having a good dream about…” Hawke opened one eye then, considerably more awake than he had been a moment ago. “Never mind. I’ll wake up.”  
  
Fenris quirked an eyebrow and Hawke shrugged, pulling him in closer with a laugh. After a moment of cuddling, Fenris pulled back from him.  
  
“Would you let Frost out? She can beg her own breakfast this morning. We should talk.”   
  
“Finally feeling up for that?” Hawke asked, looking a little nervous. “Okay.”   
  
He kissed Fenris’s head before stumbling out of bed and opening the door for the mabari. They hadn’t spoken of all that happened while they were parted and there were questions that Hawke needed to answer.   
  
Shivering a little, Hawke climbed back under the covers and cuddled close.   
  
Fenris wrapped his arms around him once more.  
  
“Before we talk… I have missed you, Hawke.”   
  
The mage smiled broadly, kissing Fenris’s forehead. “I missed you, too.”  
  
Fenris smirked, pulling the mage even closer. “No, Hawke. I have _missed_ you.   
  
Comprehension dawned on Hawke’s face, followed by a dirty grin. “Oh. Well you _are_ feeling better then.”  
  
They had not made love since they were reunited. Fenris had been too weak and, if he admitted it, a bit unsure of what still lay between them. The quiet of the last couple of days, as he rested and watched Hawke write letters to their closest friends to tell them that he was indeed still alive, had been reassuring. They had spent too long apart already, unable to talk, never mind touch, and as he felt his strength return, Fenris felt prepared to follow through on his old promise.  
  
If there was a future to be had, and there surely was with Hawke looking at him that way, then he would gladly walk it at this man’s side.  
  
They were gentle in their lovemaking, for Fenris was still not at his full strength, but it was deep and passionate, nonetheless.   
  
New scars were traced with soft fingertips, and with each discovery concerned looks and sighing smirks passed over their faces. They lived on the knife edge of danger and it made the quiet moments all the more precious. Their touches grew bolder.  
  
When each of them came, it was while wrapped tightly in the others arms, each breath shared, and there may have been a tear or two shed as realization came that they might never have had this again.  
  
Later, when both were sated and Fenris had napped a little more, Hawke was dispatched to retrieve breakfast, which they shared in bed together. Frost had indeed charmed Kira into feeding her and lay contented by the big fireplace downstairs, leaving them their privacy while they talked.  
  
As they nibbled at winter apples and cheese and fresh bread, Fenris told the tale of his journey from Kirkwall and Hawke filled in the gaps left between his letters and the great abyss that had swallowed him whole.  
  
“But why, Hawke,” Fenris asked. He had listened patiently and calmly to Hawke’s story and all had made sense to him but this one choice. “Why did you volunteer to stay in the Fade? You knew I was waiting for you. This Grey Warden who travelled with you had no one to return to and his sacrifice would have been just as worthy.”  
  
Hawke cleared his throat. “I… I know love… I can only say that… do you remember when we met with the witch on Sundermount? We had not been traveling together long.”  
  
Fenris nodded, sipping at a cup of tea. The witch was Flemeth, who put the idea of becoming a dragon into a much younger Hawke’s mind. It had not gone unnoticed that every amulet and enchanted dagger they came across since then was inspected for knowledge leading to that particular ability. She also had an uncanny knack of seeing right through to Fenris’s heart, full of fear of Danarius at the time.  
  
“If you remember her as I do,” Hawke continued, “you remember something she said to me, a piece of advice that made little sense at the time:  
 _We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly._ ”   
  
The mage was quiet for a moment after that before he spoke again.   
  
“I am… I dove into the abyss, Fen. I… something is different about me now, though I’m not sure what yet. I’m hoping… I would like to find out together. I had intended to go to Weisshaupt. There is something for me there.”  
  
“Hmmm.” Fenris sighed and took another sip of tea that was rapidly growing cold. “Yes, I would like to see more of Ferelden. But perhaps… it is near enough to full winter and the roads will become more difficult.”  
  
A little smile crossed Hawke’s face. “Are you thinking of staying in humble little Lothering, love?”  
  
Fenris nodded. “Indeed, I am. It is… the right kind of quiet.”  
  
“Hmmm. I am sure the locals would not mind the extra coin we have with us. We could stay right here, in this very room, if you like it enough.”  
  
Fenris nodded. There was enough room for the both of them and Frost as well. A little table and two comfortable chairs along with their own fireplace. They had lived under far worse conditions than this. It would be a pleasant way to pass the cold season to come. A place to hide from the world, until the world came looking for them, at any rate.  
  
“Will the rest of the world remain ignorant of the fate of the Champion of Kirkwall, then?”  
  
Hawke shrugged. Their friends knew he was alive and there was only so long that his return could be kept secret.   
  
“No, but… well, maybe just for a little longer. The important people know. And the Inquisitor. I felt like she should… she carries enough burden.”  
  
Fenris nodded. “You, of anyone, would know what that is like.”  
  
“Exactly.” Hawke kissed his nose and Fenris rolled his eyes.   
  
There was a scratching at the door and with a smile, Hawke got out of bed and let Frost back in. She immediately charged at Fenris, jumping onto the bed with surprising grace for a dog her size and did not spill a single crumb of their remaining breakfast. She did, however, immediately start to beg for the scraps and Fenris indulged her, though he knew she had begged a full breakfast from those downstairs at least twice already.  
  
“This is… a good place Hawke. I can see how it made you the man you are now.”  
  
Hawke petted Frost while she finished cleaning the plates. “Yes, it is rather nice. And it’s good to see it rebuilt so quickly.”  
  
“I wonder… I do not know what our future holds, Hawke, but… perhaps some day… there does seem to be a place for us here.”  
  
Hawke smiled and pulled Fenris in for a quick kiss, bumping Frost out of the way to get to him.  
  
“Yes, I didn’t think I would’ve even considered it, but this would be a good place to land when the world is done with us.”  
  
The mention of the end of their road darkened Fenris’s thoughts for a moment. It was too soon after their parting to think of such things. Reunions, and this one in particular, should be more jovial than that.  
  
“For now, let us just focus on enjoying this winter, eh Hawke?”  
  
The mage’s face brightened and he kissed the top of Fenris’s head once more.  
  
“Right you are. Now, shall we rise and make arrangements for our extended stay?”  
  
With effort, Fenris swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up with a groan.   
  
“Indeed.” Fenris wobbled on unsteady feet. Their earlier exertions had been a bit premature in the healing process. “Perhaps a walking stick would be handy for a little while.”  
  
He smiled as Frost clambered off the bed and stood ready to give him support should his legs become unsteady. Hawke came around to his other side and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in for another kiss.  
  
“Or I suppose I can just make due with a mage and a mabari.”  
  
Hawke chuckled and spoke with his usual confidence. “By the time spring comes, you’ll be fit and ready for another adventure, love.”  
  
Fenris sighed, running his fingers through Hawke’s hair as he was held up by the mage’s arms.  
  
“Indeed, Hawke, and this time… we’ll face it together.”


End file.
